


Bend in the Road

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Knives Out (2019), Supernatural
Genre: AU-no monsters, Deblanc - Freeform, Established Relationship, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: “So, uh, listen,” Sam began, and Dean felt his heart actually skip a beat.Those words were never good. From Sam? They always spelled disaster.“So, uh, listen” twelve-year-old Sam had said in a hushed whisper, “I know you’re gay, Dean.”“So, uh, listen,” seventeen-year-old Sam had said in May, thick envelope in his hands, “I got into Stanford, and I got a full scholarship.”“So, uh, listen,” nineteen-year-old Sam said over the phone, “ I’m not coming back this summer, either. Jess and I are gonna backpack through Europe.”“So, uh, listen,” twenty-one-year-old Sam said, wearing his graduation robes and holding Dean’s arms tight to keep him from jerking free, “I’m not going to go to KU for law school - I’m staying here, at Stanford.”“So, uh, listen,” twenty-four-year-old Sam slurred, because Dean had gotten him drunk off his ass to celebrate his graduation from law school, “Jess and I are moving to Dallas.”Dean forced himself to breathe, forced himself to ease his grip on the steering wheel.“What’s up, Sammy?” He even almost sounded normal.
Relationships: Benoit Blanc (Knives Out)/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	Bend in the Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/gifts).



> For Jen - you have given me the best curse.
> 
> As always, so much thanks to Ro for support and beta reading and general badassery. We're gonna weather this hurricane together. Well, separately, but... yeah.

It was a five-hour drive from Lawrence to Bobby’s place in Sioux Falls.

Dean had made it in four, once, but Bobby had threatened to take a sledge hammer to the hood of Dean’s beloved ‘67 Chevy Impala if he tried that crap again.

He had just merged onto I-29, which meant the rest of the drive was pretty much a straight shot, and taken a sip of coffee when Sam called.

“Hey,” he answered immediately, thumbing his phone to speaker and dropping it onto the leather upholstery at his thigh. “You get in from Dallas ok?”

“Yeah, Dean. Weirdly, the plane didn’t fall out of the sky. Because flying by plane is  _ safe _ ,” Sam snarked. Dean could  _ hear _ him roll his eyes.

“Good,” was all Dean said, because he was cool and chill like that. And not at all because of the man riding shotgun in his car, currently smirking that damn smirk of his and not fooling Dean at  _ all _ with his whole watching the world speed past outside of the windows thing.

“So, uh, listen,” Sam began, and Dean felt his heart actually skip a beat.

Those words were never good. From Sam? They  _ always _ spelled disaster. 

“ _ So, uh, listen” twelve-year-old Sam had said in a hushed whisper, “I know you’re gay, Dean.” _

_ “So, uh, listen,” seventeen-year-old Sam had said in May, thick envelope in his hands, “I got into Stanford, and I got a full scholarship.” _

_ “So, uh, listen,” nineteen-year-old Sam said over the phone, “ I’m not coming back this summer, either. Jess and I are gonna backpack through Europe.” _

_ “So, uh, listen,” twenty-one-year-old Sam said, wearing his graduation robes and holding Dean’s arms tight to keep him from jerking free, “I’m not going to go to KU for law school - I’m staying here, at Stanford.” _

_ “So, uh, listen,” twenty-four-year-old Sam slurred, because Dean had gotten him drunk off his ass to celebrate his graduation from law school, “Jess and I are moving to Dallas.” _

Dean forced himself to breathe, forced himself to ease his grip on the steering wheel.

“What’s up, Sammy?” He even  _ almost _ sounded normal.

“Dad’s here.”

Of all the ‘so, uh, listens’, that might be the worst. Second-worst. Nothing had been worse than Sam telling Dean he was leaving him that first time.

But this…

This came pretty damn close.

“Oh,” Dean managed to say.

“I, uh, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. You and Benoit,” Sam was almost stuttering.

Dean felt his throat go tight and had to clear it with a cough.

“Yeah, uh. Sure. It’s, um, okay.”

“Bobby didn’t know,” Sam said in a rush. “I mean, he invited him but-”

“But he invites him every year,” Dean finished for him. Because Bobby was like that.

But none of them had ever expected John Winchester to  _ show up _ .

“Sam,” Benoit spoke up from beside Dean, warm voice startling Dean so badly he almost swerved off the road.

Benoit gave him a look, but Dean just shook his head and put his focus back on the road.

“Hey, man, how, uh, how’s it going?” Sam still sucked at sounding casual when he was freaking out.

“The drive has been uneventful and quite pleasant so far,” Benoit answered him calmly, all drawl and faint amusement. It made something settle, just a little, in Dean’s chest. “How does this impact our plans to stay with Bobby at the house?” 

Shit. Fucking shit. Fuck.

Dean hadn’t even  _ considered _ that shit.

The plan had been for Dean and Benoit to take the guest room, while Sam and Rufus slept in the upstairs bedroom that had been Dean and Sam’s unofficial summer room whenever John had dumped them on Bobby in their childhood. 

But if John was staying at the house…

Dean felt his stomach curdle.

“Dad’s staying here,” Sam said hesitantly. “I, uh, guess he could… sleep on the couch and-”

Dean snorted.

There was no way in any kind of hell - frozen over or lava hot - that John Winchester would take the  _ couch _ while his eldest son and his boyfriend slept in the guest room.

“Yeah, fuck that. We’ll get a hotel tonight and come over in the morning,” Dean decided. Regardless of what John Winchester would want -  _ Dean _ didn’t want to spend the night under the same roof with him.

“Are you… Yeah, okay. I’ll let Bobby know,” Sam said on a sigh. “Let me know when you get in, okay?”

“Yep,” Dean agreed and tried his level best not to think about  _ anything at all _ .

“I’ll call you when we arrive,” Benoit said. “Have a good evening, Sam.”

“You guys, too.”

Benoit ended the call, setting the phone back down, and, without even turning to look at him, focused his entire attention on Dean.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean said.

“Do you have a preference for which hotel I book for us?” Benoit asked, smooth and cool as ever, unruffled because only a handful of things ever seemed to get under his skin, and sure, Dean now knew at least three ways to do just that, but all of them involved him being naked and one involved him in handcuffs, one in panties and the other his tongue up Benoit’s ass. So yeah, of course Benoit was going to be all cool and collected while Dean sat there losing his  _ shit _ .

“No,” Dean croaked. “Whatever you want. I- Sorry.”

“Whatever would you have to apologize for?” Benoit asked, sounding genuinely baffled.

Dean hazarded a glance at him, couldn’t help but laugh at Benoit’s expression.

“Uh, everything?”

He looked away when Benoit started to frown.

Mercifully, Benoit let it go, at least long enough to book them two nights at the Hampton Inn in downtown Sioux Falls.

“New tape?” Benoit asked, and Dean kind of hated himself a  _ lot _ for tensing up the second Benoit had addressed him, before the words even registered, because Dean had been expecting an entirely different question.

“Yeah,” Dean managed to say after a rough swallow. “Put in the Bowie, would you?”

“Of course,” Benoit said and smiled a little. Maybe it was because he also had a thing for David Bowie. Maybe because it was the  _ Hunky Dory _ tape that he’d bought for Dean a few months ago.

Either way, Benoit switched out the tapes, cranked the volume up a few turns, and laid one hand on the bucket seat between them.

Dean licked his lips, tried to tell himself to calm the fuck down, and gave in to the urge - the  _ need _ \- to reach out and tangle his fingers with Benoit’s.

-o-

Benoit had eased Dean into it - the whole dating thing. He’d been in Lawrence for a job, had met Dean at a bar, had witnessed Dean making a complete ass of himself singing karaoke and still taken him back to his hotel room and spent hours damn near devouring Dean. One thing had led to another, had led to Benoit staying two weeks, and then three, had led to Dean and Benoit spending every other night together, whether it was just eating dinner or just fucking or both, or even spending one of Dean’s days off seeing a baseball game. And then Benoit had left, gone back to Chicago for two months, and they’d talked every damn day and Dean had felt like an idiot, the worst kind of fool, because who the fuck went and fell in love after three weeks? 

He reconciled himself to a broken heart - wouldn’t be the first or last, and Dean had a hell of a lot of practice nursing those, or at least trying to pickle them in tequila and whiskey. But nine weeks after he left Lawrence, Kansas, Benoit was back in town, with a moving truck and an apartment near the university and asking for Dean’s help moving into his new place. He even fed Dean some bullshit about getting a great deal on his condo in Chicago and wanting a change of scenery and- and Dean had been so damn grateful to be able to tuck his nose into Benoit’s neck and breathe him in that he hadn’t given a damn.

Six months of that, of Benoit in his apartment - or, well, Benoit’s things in his apartment but Benoit himself and - eventually - most of his clothes at Dean’s house. Benoit still left, all the time - two weeks in New York, three weeks in LA, ten days in Miami - but he always came back. Always came  _ home _ .

It wasn’t until Dean’s birthday, until Sam and Jess were in town for it and Benoit asked Dean if he should go back to ‘his place’ while they were in town that Dean remembered Benoit even  _ had _ his own apartment. So he’d introduced Benoit to Sam and Jess, and the week after they left town, in weather that was awful, he and Benoit moved all of his stuff out of that apartment and into Dean’s house.

Now, two years later, Dean was finally bringing Benoit up to meet Bobby. Bobby  _ knew _ about Benoit, of course - had known even before Sam, because he’d called at a really unfortunate time once, and Dean, mouth occupied, had just pushed the phone at Benoit who answered it with a breathless moan and, well, both men had been a bit scarred by that. Dean, on the other hand, still laughed about it sometimes.

It was Bobby’s sixtieth birthday, and even Rufus was coming into town for it. Ellen and Jo would be there, Jody too, and Sam - only Jess, unable to get time off at the hospital, wouldn’t be there for the big party.

Then again, Jess - and Sam - had already had their big in-person Benoit introduction, and had put up with Dean and Benoit visiting them in Dallas nearly a dozen times, and had come up to visit them in Lawrence a handful of times as well. 

Still, trading Jess for John was, in Dean’s book, a really shitty deal.

There had been a time, when Dean was seventeen and still hiding his sexuality from the world, but especially from his father, by trying - and mostly succeeding - in sleeping with every hot girl he could, that John Winchester’s good opinion of Dean mattered more than anything else in the world, with the sole exception of knowing that Sam was okay.

Dean had managed to keep it a secret until he was twenty-two, still living with John and paying the bills for the both of them by working full-time for Bobby at the garage and part-time for Ellen at the bar while John drank and went on increasingly longer road trips and got increasingly bad at keeping in touch or letting Dean know he wasn’t dead.

So Dean had thought it was safe, more or less, to hook up with the hot guy - bearded and blue-eyed and all slow, southern cajun drawl and just in town for the weekend before he went home - and sure, it’d been dumb as fuck to go to his knees in the bathroom of the  _ Roadhouse _ but, well…

Well, John Winchester walked in and found his son with a dick in his mouth and immediately and violently and  _ loudly _ lost his shit.

Benoit knew the loose, very general, very edited, very lacking in hospital stays and cardboard boxes stuffed full of Dean’s life and left to rot in the rain outside of Bobby’s place story of Dean’s ‘coming out’ and his estrangement from John.

And, in theory, Dean figured that, one day, he - and maybe Benoit - would have to confront that shit.

But theory and practice and  _ tomorrow _ were very fucking different.

-o-

Dean pulled into the Hampton Inn parking lot, turned off the car, and closed his eyes.

It kind of felt like he’d been driving for a week.

Which…

Eight hours.

That was a new, shitty record for him.

He was barely even aware of Benoit calling Sam to let him know they were in Sioux Falls. When Benoit got out of the car, Dean followed on autopilot, took the bag Benoit handed him, took the hand Benoit held out to him, and followed in the path Benoit took to the hotel lobby.

It wasn’t until they were in the room, until Benoit was easing him onto the massive bed and kneeling down in front of him, that Dean kind of… lost it.

“We can go home, if you’d like,” Benoit said, still between Dean’s knees, looking up at him and face full of concern and… fuck. Love.

Still not a word Dean had managed to say, though Benoit had pulled it out on a half-dozen occasions - probably would use it every damn day if he wasn’t so damn observant and didn’t know how much it unsettled Dean unless Benoit used it in the right context. Because yeah, Dean was that fucked up.

“You don’t deserve this shit,” Dean said, and hated that his voice sounded like  _ tears _ .

“You don’t deserve it,” Benoit corrected.

Dean snorted and rubbed at his face, furious to find his hand wet when he pulled it back.

“Hell of a birthday present for Bobby, huh?” Dean tried for a smile and knew it came out as a grimace.

Benoit reached up and cradled Dean’s face in his hands.

“You do not deserve this, Dean Winchester.” It was his stern voice. His ‘I am fully aware of just how much bullshit is in the world around me, and I simply do not care’ voice.

Dean couldn’t help but wrap his hands around Benoit’s, holding him in place, holding on.

“Do you…” Dean had to stop, had to take a few breaths. “Do you still want to go there? To Bobby’s?”

Benoit tugged at Dean, until he leaned forward enough for Benoit to press a brief kiss to his lips. It was warm, firm, more than a little possessive, even though it was barely a touch.

“I want to be anywhere you are.”

-o-

  
  


Oh, TBC for sure.

  
  



End file.
